"Yes," she said, "until I took to my bed I carried them here," touching her bosom. "They are his letters."
Miss Carr speedily made up the packet, and was about to seal it.
"Not that seal," said Adeline. "Take my own; the small one, that has my initials on it. Mary, do you think I could direct it?"
"You direct it!" exclaimed Miss Carr, in surprise. "I don't see how."
"If you could raise me up--and hold me--it would not take more than a minute. I wish to write the address myself."
"Let me call Susanne."
"No, no, I will have no one else here. Put the letter before me on a book, and try and raise me."
It was accomplished after some trouble, Mary Carr was nervous, and feared, besides, that the raising her up might do some injury: but she knew not how to resist Adeline's beseeching looks. She supported her up in bed, and held her, whilst she wrote his name, "Frederick St. John." No "Mr.," no "Esquire;" and written in a straggling hand, all shakes and angles, bearing not any resemblance to what Adeline's had been. Mary laid her down again, and Adeline, in a few words, explained the secret of their being parted, and charged her to enlighten him.
"Tell him I have returned all except the ring, and that will be buried with me. That it has never been off my finger since he placed it there."
"What ring?" exclaimed Mary Carr, surprised, even at such a moment, into curiosity. "The ring you wear is de la Chasse's engagement-ring," she continued, looking down at the plain circlet of gold, that was only kept on Adeline's emaciated finger by the smaller guard worn to protect it.